"Now, Doc, I want you should cast an eye over the way we've
dressed his cuts, and I want the rest of you to come and take a
look at him and tell who he is and where he belongs," he said in
conclusion.
"I'll know him if he belongs within forty miles of here in any
direction," said the doctor. But he shook his head when his eye
rested on Yancy. "Never saw him," he said briefly.
"How about them bandages, Doc?" demanded Cavendish.
"Oh, I reckon they'll do," replied the doctor indifferently.
"Will he live?"
"I can't say. You'll know all about that inside the next
forty-eight hours. Better let the rest have a look."
"Just feel of them bandages--sho', I got money in my pants!" Mr.
Cavendish was rapidly losing his temper, yet he controlled
himself until each man had taken a look at Yancy; but always with
the same result--a shake of the head. "I reckon I can leave him
here?" Cavendish asked, when the last man had looked and turned
away.
"Leave him here--why?" demanded the doctor slowly.
"Because I'm going on, that's why. I'm headed for downstream,
and he ain't in any sort of shape to say whether he wants to go
or stop," explained Cavendish.
"You picked him up, didn't you?" asked one of the men.
"I certainly did," said Cavendish.
"Well, I reckon if you're so anxious for him to stay hereabout,
you'd better stop, yourself," said the owner of the woodyard.
"There ain't a house within two miles of here but mine, and he
don't go there!"
"You're a healthy lot, you are!" said Cavendish.
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